The School Beyond the Mists
by Vetri
Summary: Ireland, HP 6th year time period. Voldemort is stronger. 4 girls with diverse pasts meet together in a small wizarding school called Tir Nan Og, surrounded by thick, well-guarded mists...It all started as a prank, but soon becam a cocoon of mystery.


THIS IS A BORING DISCLAIMER!!! Anything you recognizenot ours! Some names and ideas are taken from Nik Perumov's Keeper of the Swords series.

A/N: We are new, any advice is appreciated!

Veritaserum and Advice:

The shadows in the darkened room seemed to dance in the wavering candlelight. At a small, elegant table sat two figures, the candle, the only source of light, in between them. The silence in the room seemed promising and thick with anticipation, as if the words about to be uttered would change the fate of the world. Slightly long, careful and wise amber eyes stared into impossibly large, also elongated midnight blue orbs, comforting and questioning at the same time.

"You are worried," the owner of the amber eyes stated, "you hide it with skill, your eyes would not betray it to most, but I know you too well. What bothers you?"

"Nothing, uncle. It's just that they will not take my leaving as easily as any other school would," replied the dark eyed girl, her eyes flashing lavender for an instant.

"You know as well as I do that it is dangerous, but seem not to care. What are you _really_ worried about?" the 'uncle' questioned.

The girl looked at her guardian carefully, taking in every detail in his appearance. He was a handsome man of twenty seven, on the taller side of medium height, slender, and yet obviously not weak. The girl's uncle seemed, at first glance, quick and dangerous, somewhat resembling a rapier. His skin was tanned to almost a bronze hue and strangely smooth. His hair was cut slightly below shoulder length and tied back in a 'ponytail', with a few locks escaping the loose tie. That was what stood out most of all in this dashing man. His hair. It was whiter than snow and seemed to glow with eerie iridescence, capturing all the light the shadowed room could offer. Upon closer inspection, the uncle seemed to radiate a strange mix of rash youth and wise serenity. He seemed kind, understanding, and intelligent, yet the casual sense of disarray that clung to him made him appear more human. His typical muggle attire, wide blue jeans and a loose, slightly creased green shirt as well as the messy look of his white hair dimmed the foreign aura that lingered in the air about him. Currently, he was looking at his niece in and understanding way that showed the true depth of his character. He apparently knew his young charge, and knew her well.

"Oh, dammit! Why do you always know when I'm not telling the full truth?" the girl asked, her melodious, surprisingly low voice tinged with annoyance, "I'm nervous."

"Nervous?" her uncle inquired, "about what?"

"About going to a new school and all. I don't know anything about the schools here, and what if they do not like me there?" now torquoise eyes looked searchingly into amber ones.

"You mean that your other abilities may cause people to avoid you?" the girl's amber-eyed guardian said, looking pensive, "yes, Kris, you do have a point. Try to keep your talent from being noticed. Just know this: your skill is not evil. It is often thought so because some evil mage once used this branch of magic for his own ends, and people called it the Dark Arts. Your power is unique, Kris, unique. What some moron said about it does not matter. You are more apt at Shadow Magic than anyone I have ever heard about, you just don't use your full potential. Many take decades to accomplish less than what you have done in two years!" was the heated reply.

"You and your views!" replied Kris, "Vilevine knows we are here. If I go to this school, it will probably meet the same fate as Vhael. He will stop at nothing to destroy the art of the Battle Mages. You know this. It is a smart person that recommended Hogwarts to us."

"There are many schools in the area, and I do not want Albus Dumbledore prying on the matter. You know why. You will leave Shadowmount, but it will be up to you to decide what school to go to. Hogwarts is in danger as is, you being there will not help the situation at all."

"Dumbledore needs to know..." Kris protested, "oh well! As long as you tell him, I will go to a different school. It's just that Hogwarts seems to be the most challenging school."

"We can always visit the bookstore. I need a few books myself, and you can read about the best schools in the area all you need. I think we will be able to find a school with a more challenging curriculum than Hogwarts." With that, Kris' uncle wandered off, muttering something under his breath.

The girl smiled in relief, and looked critically at the drawing of her uncle she had finished. Seeing no major flaws, she took her pencil and signed the bottom of the paper in her neat, tiny handwriting. _Ker Laedah, October 33. Drawn by Niakris Ethelveri._

Natasha strode into the bookstore, staring at the rows and rows of dusty tomes within. She looked around until she saw the cauldron sign that generally indicated the potions section. Of course, she doubted there would be anything interesting, but one never knew. At a glance, the entire row seemed completely devoid of new information – nothing unique, just the typical school-level junk a beginner needed. She grabbed a nondescript scroll that looked remotely intriguing. The potion-wise teenager examined it for a while, then, sighing, returned it to the shelf. The scroll contained the recipes for 'dark' and 'mysterious' brews such as the Polyjuice potion – elementary knowledge for one as versed in the art of potion making as she.

"Perhaps there will be something good in the Charms section," she mumbled in French. With that, she quickly walked out of the aisle, absorbed in her thoughts, busily calculating a way in which a charm might help her in her project. So concentrated was she, however, that she bumped into a young, white haired man. They both stumbled into a nearby bookshelf, sending several volumes crashing down.

"I'm sorry," she said, leaning over to help the unfortunate man pick up the books.

"It's all right, no major harm done, no appendages damaged," he replied in a soft, oddly-accented voice. "By the way, do you know where I could find a detailed recipe for Veritaserum?" he continued, smiling slightly.

"Not here, I'm afraid. The section here is strangely empty of anything more difficult than the Polyjuice Potion, and even that is hidden in an ancient scroll, easily the rarest item there. But I know the recipe."

He whipped out a notebook and a pen. The strange man explained, "I need it for my research."

Natasha proceeded to go on into a long, detailed explanation of the Truth Drought, giving each small detail and the properties of each of the various ingredients.

"So what research do you need this for?" she inquired as he returned the notebook to his backpack.

"I'm a chemist and physicist, but I'm quite skilled in potions as well, and I often try to combine the two. I have quite a few interesting serums."

"Fascinating. Do you know anything in Muggle science that could help healing, slowing down death, or granting some sort of immunity? Or perhaps something that strengthens charms and draughts?" Natasha asked, talking rather quickly and excitedly.

"If I told you everything I know, we would go on for quite some time. I have a few thousand different recipes, all of them hybrids."

The girl sighed. "Is there anything that could help? I'm working on a ... on a potion that ought to protect from various dark spells," she finished, fishing for words that wouldn't give too much away. She was not allowed to talk about this. She was barely even allowed to continue her line of research.

"Trust me, you don't want to ask him that. He'll go on for days. Cross that_, months_," interrupted a deep, melodious voice.

Natasha wheeled around quickly to face the speaker, losing her balance and using a bookshelf to try to steady herself. Without making anything fall this time.

The voice belonged to a girl, probably about Natasha's age, with a longish face and black, gold-streaked hair in a conservative, plain braid that fell down to her knees. Two forelocks alone stayed out of this coiffure, falling to her shoulders. Dark blue, elongated eyes shone, emotionless, from her tan, unsmiling face.

"Hello," she greeted the newcomer civilly, "how are you?"

The man intervened and said, "That's my niece, Niakris."

"My name's Natasha," she replied, addressing both the man and his niece, for she had just then realized they had not introduced themselves earlier. "She's your niece? There must be quite an age difference between you and ..." she stopped abruptly, as though beginning to understand how impolite she was being. "I'm sorry, I tend to think aloud too much," she apologized, wincing.

"It's fine, he is a fossil," Niakris announced, earning a half-hearted glare from her uncle.

"So where do you go to school, Niakris? You're not in Tir Nan Og, and Hogwarts, unlike us, does not have an All Hallows break," Natasha mused. "That only leaves... but you cannot be dark wizards! None of _them_ would be interested in Muggle science, and doubtless they teach the recipe for Veritaserum at Shadowmount." She snapped the last word out like a dreadful insult.

"Mainly why I left Shadowmount. They all can't see past the end of their stuck-up noses," Kris explained, as if the fact that she went to Shadowmount was of no import, her foreign accent giving her words a careless note.

"So? You still have to be dark to get in there. So wherever you're going now, I hope it's not Tir Nan Og!" the sixteen year old's anger was audible in her words.

"Gee, relax. How was I supposed to know Shadowmount was full of dark wizards? As to being a dark wizard myself, well that's ridiculous – I'm a witch. And what is Tir Nan Og?"

Her uncle spoke, "Stop baiting her. And it's obvious she considers us dark wizards now. Let's go."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You are dark wizards. Only members of the pureblood lines with either a really evil mind, or a certain talent for something useful are invited, and only the darkest accept. If you know about it, you know it teaches dark magic and is run by Lucius Malfoy, a famous Death Eater. They must be evil." She whispered the last sentence to herself.

"I fail to see the point in trying to prove to us we are evil. I am not pureblood, and Shadowmount was the only option I had."

"I'm trying to make sense of this, and not to be confused by your vile tricks. And if your blood is not 'pure' then you must be doubly evil and skilled to make up for it. It cannot be just the skills. For your earlier question, Tir Nan Og is a demanding Irish school open to the ones whose gifts are the strongest, as well as being a school of bards."

Kris narrowed her eyes and said, "You're hopeless. You _all _are hopeless. Just as blind as them." With that, she turned around and started walking away.

"If I am blind, then explain this logically. I am merely drawing logical conclusion." The girl was getting red now, her speech quick and heated. "Explain it."

Kris turned around. "I come from the republic of Tatarstan, Vael."

"The one that was destroyed," Natasha breathed.

"Yes. I come to England knowing nothing, and I'm offered to go to a school which supposedly has a more challenging curriculum than Hogwarts. I accept. It turns out the school is full of snobby Death Eater wanna-be's. After two months of patience, I leave. That's all. Now I'm searching for a new school."

"That would make sense. If I hadn't known, I would probably have accepted their invitation myself. Of course, there were no survivors on Vael. You would not even be alive."

"I am the _only_ survivor. The government kept the matter hushed up, and the newspaper only guessed none had lived."

"Then I am sorry for your loss, and apologize for drawing conclusions." She laughed. "That sounds hollow doesn't it. I am sorry for your loss. There's no feeling in that, no sorrow. But I am truly sorry. You know, I think I trust you, for some reason, and believe your tale. Is this some spell? No matter. Oh, I'm rambling again. Sorry. Why do the English use sorry like it means nothing? It's supposed to imply great sadness." Natasha stopped abruptly, realizing that she had been, in fact, rambling once more.

"You're French, aren't you?"

"Yes I am. Do I have that much of an accent?"

"Not too bad," Kris replied, "but the reference to 'the English' really got me thinking."

"I guess. Are you really Tatar? In Pushkin's books they're always savage and wild, but I always read they are really schooled in battle magic, in fact they have – had – the best school for battle magic in the world. Now is that a contradiction, or does it support Pushkin's view? I think it does both. Now I'm confused. But honestly I think –"

"You're rambling again," Kris interrupted. "the Tatars did mostly focus on battle, but the issue is very complicated, for there are many types of Tatar... long story, I'll tell you later, if we meet again. I'm half-Tatar, half-Russian."

"Oh. Well, back on the subject of schools, you should go to Tir Nan Og. If you're looking for a challenge, it should satisfy. Oh, there's my father. I have to go. 'Bye!" With that, Natasha walked towards a tall, balding man in a crisp suit and left the store with him.

Authors' Note: Tatarstan is a republic in Russia. Please review.


End file.
